


With an Iron Fist and an Icy Heart

by urisarang



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Age Difference, Dark Sansa Stark, F/M, Mind Games, POV Sansa Stark, Power Imbalance, Pre-Relationship, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Somehow I wrote a Teen rated GoT fic, This shouldn't be possible and yet here we are, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29330661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urisarang/pseuds/urisarang
Summary: Sansa knew well what kind of person Lord Baelish was—how could she ever forget?  He had brought ruin upon her family for selfish, terrible reasons.  At every turn, he made choices to further his goals.  Goals that may have aligned with her own but that was simply a nice benefit.  She knew he was only out for himself, to gain power and control.So why was it that she found herself believing his pretty little lies?But more importantly, why did a touch that should disgust her instead light a burning fire within?
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	With an Iron Fist and an Icy Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wanda von dunayev (wandavon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandavon/gifts).



> Hi! 
> 
> I love their messed up, and so very wrong relationship and wanted to explore how Sansa could view Lord Baelish in a favorable light. I do so hope you enjoy this short little treat.

Sansa’s life had been one nightmare after another, after another since she left home for the first time. She had left with such high hopes, she thought that she would be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and all the people would grow to love her. 

She was a daughter of the North, she knew well that winter is a cruel and harsh mistress. To be unprepared, to underestimate her would bring death and ruin upon not only yourself but your house. It was a lesson all in the North were taught at a young age—a lesson she thought she had understood.

She knew nothing.

Everything she knew, that she thought she knew? It was all a lie. A fairy tale compared to the real world beyond Winterfell’s high walls. Again and again, she was betrayed, backstabbed, used as a pawn in a game of thrones. In a game of power that held no meaning because as soon as one house wrestled power another would come up behind them to take it away.

On and on the games went as she struggled to keep her head above water. Struggled to cover her wounds so that the sharks swimming around her would not sense the weakness and come to feed.

There was no one on her side and those who claimed to be? They lied. They toyed with her like the child that she was. With each new betrayal, her heart hardened that much more and the less the next one would sting. Soon she stopped falling for their false words, and their pretty lies. 

A lesson learned the hard way is not one easily forgotten.

Until Lord Baelish returned that is. His lies were the most dangerous of all because he told her to her face to not trust him. To not believe him, even as he held his hand out to help her up time and time again. 

So she didn’t trust him, not even a little bit. She had felt the sting of winter’s bite too often to go out in the cold without a layer of protection. He applauded her resolve, complimented her growth as a true lady of her house, and all the while continued her lessons on the backstabbing ways of court.

He was the worst snake of them all, and freely admitted to it. Was proud of it, and never once let her forget it. 

So why was it that she felt her walls crumbling whenever he drew near? Why did his whispered words of poison in her ear sound so sweet? 

She knew his whispered lies were just that—lies, but why did she want to believe them so much? She had seen how he would whisper sweet nothings into Lady Arryn’s ear—he had told her all that she wanted to hear and more. Sansa had watched as Lady Arryn had fallen for him.

And heard her screams after he had pushed her out the moon door without an ounce of compassion. Without a shred of regret.

But he had done it for her. For Sansa. For his love for her.

His love for her was true, right, and pure he claimed. Nothing like he had felt for anyone before—save her mother. Was his love for her mother so strong that it had transferred to her daughter? To Sansa?

It made her stomach twist sickeningly whenever he would touch her hair, or her face while he spoke of her mother. As if he was seeing her, touching her in Sansa’s place. 

It was wrong. It was a perversion.

So why did she feel jealousy? At what point did she want to be seen by _him_? Was it that there was no one else out there for her? Had she grown desperate in her loneliness that she would accept—

No not simple accept—but to seek out his affections? To want his touch, to crave it?

Her days would pass by in monochrome, his touches, his whispered words the only splashes of color. Her nights she spent replaying each moment, each gentle caress of his fingers against her skin and wanting more. She would run her fingers along her skin, trialing the places he touched.

The places she wanted him to touch. It was wrong. She knew that, but she could not help herself.

At every turn, he reminded her of the monster lurking behind his pretty face. In the same breath that he would say “I love you,” he would speak of her mother. It was cruel just as it was kind. 

She didn’t want to feel this way for him—for anyone. He was the monster who had set all this in motion, had gotten her father killed and her family scattered to the winds. He never once hid that fact from her. Never once did he claim to be anything other than what he was.

But her heart did not care. It wanted him. 

Needed him.

They were almost home, he had kept his word to return her to Winterfell. She was both afraid and excited at the same moment. She was so different from the little girl who had left. She had been so ignorant, so stupid back then. She was stronger and wiser for all the pain and suffering she had endured.

Like her mother, she would become a true Lady of the North. Strong and resolute. Unflinching in the face of loss.

She would rule in place of her brothers. Not less than, but greater than they would and she knew it for a fact. 

The lessons she learned in King’s Landing would do her well in the North. For too long her family had allowed their kingdom to stagnate, but no longer. Under her rule, the North would know prosperity and growth it had not seen in generations. She had paid dearly for the knowledge and the skills necessary to make her dream of a unified North a reality, to finally come out from under the boot of the Southerners. 

And it was all thanks to Lord Baelish—a fact she would not soon forget. A fact she could not forget.

He asked nothing of her she wasn’t willing to give. He told her his plans, his reasonings behind his moves to reseat her in a position of power. Each concession he asked of her was a small price to pay for the things they would accomplish.

With his skills, knowledge, and experience at her side? There was little that would be beyond their reach. With his money, his connections, and her title? 

They could have or do anything.

Together.

This was just another game, she was no different than Lady Arryn. He was using her to rise above everyone else, she knew this. It rang true in her heart and yet she ignored it. Ignored the dark worries that crept in during the stretching silences between them. 

She chose to focus on his pretty words, the ever growing boldness of his touch, and the desires it raised inside her. A pretty lie from a pretty man, but this lie she chose to believe because the truth would hurt far more than this falsehood.

She would rather die in ignorance after many happy years with him beside her than to die cold and alone. Never nothing the touch, nor the pleasure he could bring her. No, she had enough of being a pawn. She would instead choose to be a queen.

 _His_ queen and he would be her king. 

It was simple really once she thought about it. The danger lied not with him, but in another, who could offer him more than she could. All she had to do was make sure that would never happen. She was the daughter of Caitlyn, his first love—a love that passed down to her.

Who would even be able to compete? And if it was a matter of power? That was even less of an issue. She would rule the North with an iron fist and an icy heart. She had been hardened and none could ever hope to break her.

She would break them first.


End file.
